


Twice Shy

by MarmaladeMoustache



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarmaladeMoustache/pseuds/MarmaladeMoustache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are the best and brightest individuals in all of Thedas. The fact that some specific members are bumbling idiots mooning for each other is not an issue. This doesn't mean that they aren't reliable people with the fate of world weighing their shoulders. </p><p>Look, don't worry about it. Everything will be fine. Probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twice Shy

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written fanfiction before, and then Dorian Pavus happened. So I'm just gonna see where this thing leads, there aren't any long term plans for this so expect erratic updates, if I even decide to update at all. 
> 
> Let me know if you see any mistakes or anything else, it'd be super appreciated :^)
> 
> Pic of my inquisitor that I have in mind while writing this, if anyone is curious.  
> http://i58.tinypic.com/i5oj85.png  
> http://i60.tinypic.com/2q2k9yv.png

                                                                                                           ❀❀❀

  
Dorian looked up. Eyes adjusting to his surroundings after straining over volumes of old musty tomes and squinting at their small text. Glancing around the library he realized how dim it has become, all other occupants gone. Well, except the spymaster. _Does she ever sleep? Creepy._

_Maker, how long have I been here..?_

It was obvious to anyone that it was evening. Late evening in-fact. He definitely  missed the drivel that's served as dinner. _How unfortunate._ Getting a hot meal this late is out of the question. The kitchen staff would be sleeping. Perhaps he could venture to the kitchens for some bread and cheese. Maybe pilfer a bottle of wine. Now _that's_ an idea.

Nodding to himself Dorian stood from his chair. His achy muscles protested and strained from the sudden movement. To soothe the ache he rolled his shoulders, joints popped from their disuse.   
  
_A trip to the baths would be an even better idea._ There wouldn't be anyone in the baths to gawk and glare at the Tevinter. His profile was incredible but it never hurt to let a man bathe in privacy. The mage headed to his quarters and grabbed his toiletries, then proceeded to the baths. Pushing open a wooden door revealed the stone tiled room lined with benches.

Steam circulated the space, and the air was pleasantly humid. Dorian grabbed one of the clean towels on a shelf, he placed his things on a bench and started to strip. Buckles, belts and laces were all undone, clothes neatly folded and set aside with the other things. He slipped into the bath, hot water lapping at his body till he settled. Dorian let out a relaxed sigh and reclined against the ledge behind him. He should thank Josephine for prioritizing the plumbing in Skyhold. _It was nothing like the public baths in Minrathous._ The thought made him a bit wistful, homesick even. But he left with good reason and it was not something he wanted to dwell on at the moment.

The door opened, and the mage turned to see the inquisitor step into the room cradling his things to his chest. “Oh! Dorian, I didn't mean to interrupt...” icy blue eyes flitted downwards. 

“Not at all, this is your castle after all.”

“I- yes. I suppose it is, isn't it?” came the uncertain reply. Dorian averted his eyes as the elf stripped and entered the bath. He looked back and the Inquisitor had his knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees. 

“What are you doing up so late Dorian? Is everything alright?” brows drew together in concern, creases formed along warm bronze skin. The scar that started from the side of his forehead and scaled down to his cheek caught in forehead crinkles. “We haven't had a chance to talk to each other,after Redcliffe we closed the breach right away and then Haven... ”Lavellan’s voice trailed off. Dorian raised his brows in slight disbelief. People didn’t make it a habit, asking about his wellbeing. Especially with the Inquisitor being a elf and himself a Tevinter. Scandalous.He grinned and deflected. 

“The only thing bothering me is the state of your abysmal library. I've spent days sorting through books and sitting on a pile of sticks supposedly called chairs. My mind and body ache” he responded dramatically. His theatrical complaining got him a small smile.

“Maybe don’t sit on a pile of sticks? I hear that might help.” Teased the elf. 

“Oh _now_ somebody tells me. I thought it was some sort of architecture developed only in the south.” This time Dorian earned a pretty laugh from the Inquisitor, and the sound made his gut flutter. 

 “I don't think I can do anything about the library or chairs, at the moment. But I have a solution for aches”. Dorian was faced with the Inquisitor’s back while he moved. Allowing the opportunity the appreciate handsome shoulders. Then his attention was drawn to faint, long scars littering bronze skin. _Old, perhaps?_

Before he knew it, the Inquisitor pulled up against the edge of the bath and leaned forward to grab at his things, giving Dorian a nice view of his bottom. Dorian bit his lip. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but it was shapely. Looked smooth yet firm. He must be doing something right to deserve an opportunity to see such a eyeful. 

_Thank Andraste._

Whatever the Inquisitor was trying to get, it was still a hair out of reach. He stretched forward, wiggling his hips as if that would compel him closer. The flesh he ogled shifted side-to-side with the movement. This only made Dorian wear at his lip harder, feeling flush.

“Ha!”Dorian’s head jerked up and the elf turned, then slid back into the bath. He scooted next to Dorian and handed him a small glass jar full of a light green paste. “It’s a balm,” Lavellan explained “ hunters in my clan use it to soothe the muscles, rub some on before you sleep and it should help.” 

Dorian stared at the jar in his hands. He assumed the Inquisitor was just being polite, asking how he was. He didn't expect him to take his complaints seriously. How would he feel if he knew Dorian was leering him just a moment ago? But this man went around slaughtering rams to feed refugees and hand delivering flowers tograves. 

He should have expected better, but it was always safer not to. 

Dorian’s silence made the elf shift uncomfortably. 

“You don't have to use it-” 

“No!” he said quickly, perhaps a little too loudly. “No.. I- thank you” he smiled in reassurance. 

Taking the jar in hand he unscrewed the lid and brought it close to his face and inhaling the scent. The smell was strong, giving a right hook to his senses, making him scrunch up his nose at the powerful odour. It wasn't bad per-se, in fact it was reminiscent of herbal teas. 

Lavellan looked apologetic as he spoke, “the smell has got some kick to it, but it gets the job done”. 

“Thank you again, I appreciate it”. Dorian couldn't help but grin a bit goofily as he saw the other duck his head slightly to hide his smile. He watched as the smaller man’s smile turn into a yawn making his face scrunch up. The scar on the side of his nose crinkled and deepened. It was only inevitable that it caused him to yawn in turn. 

“I should turn in, I have to go to the war room early. If I don't Cassandra would drag me in by my ankles.” 

“Yes, of course. We wouldn't want that to happen to our dear Inquisitor.” 

They both idled, starting at each other for a moment longer before they got out and dressed in comfortable silence. Dorian felt a significantly more light-hearted than he initially did this evening. He had the Inquisitor to thank for that. Once they were done they bid each other a good night and parted their ways.  

He applied the salve to his lower back, feeling it warm up and tingle for several minutes before it started to cool. When Dorian fell into bed, his breathing was soft and easy. He felt content, slowly, he relaxed into a deep sleep. A jar full of green sitting on the end table next to his bed and his dinner forgotten. 

                                                                                                            ❀❀❀

A Week later, when the Inquisitor was traipsing on the Storm Cost, challenging the Blades of Hessarian. Dorian found himself climbing the stairs of the rotunda to his little nook. At the top he saw the mage recruits and Inquisition agents alike crowded around his designated area. But no one dared to enter the space. They were all murmuring to one another and gesturing to whatever was in front of them. _Maker, what in the world is going on?_ He couldn't see what they were yammering about. 

Dorian looked around and made eye contact with Fiona who merely smiled knowingly. Then he looked up to the spymaster, in hopes of an answer, he saw her leaning on the bannister looking at the scene before her. She motioned with a hand at the crowd encouraging him to investigate. 

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion but stepped towards the crowd and cleared his throat. They all swerved their heads at him, realizing who it was, and scattered like a bunch of nugs. When the sea of people parted Dorian saw what they crowded around. A lavish red chair stood in his alcove. The only thing he could do was gape. Sitting in the chair was a pile of books.On the top there was a letter with Josephine's familiar cursive. 

_Lord Pavus,_  
  
              The books you've requested have arrived. If anything is amiss, or you require any thing elseplease notify me as soon as possible. 

_Josephine Montilyet_

Below the letter, in chicken scratch, there was another message. 

_Dorian,_

_Hopefully you like this chair better. I asked Josephine about getting you a nicer one and she assured me this one would be good._

_She uses one of these herself, it supposidly has good back support._

_Lavellan_

At the bottom of the page there was a tiny wobbly drawing of a halla with a smiley face. It was completely dreadful but it made him feel all warm inside for all the reasons it shouldn’t. 

He folded the letter up and placed them inside his outfit. Somewhere. I mean look at those buckles, one of them has to be a pocket. _Ridiculous man, he spoils me._ Dorian placed the pile of books onto the floor, grabbed the first one and began to read it in his new chair. 

Throughout the day, if Dorian caught somebody’s curious gaze he’d smirk at them.

                                                                                                           ❀❀❀

It was late morning and he was pacing, _subtly_ . The Inquisitor was already late, he was suppose to be at the Storm Cost for a week and a half, but its been two. Varric told him that a raven reached Leliana saying the Inquisitor's party would be delayed in coming back. Apparently, the Inquisitor tried to punch an alpha hurlock and got himself a maul on the side of his face. _The bloody idiot. Why on earth would he try to punch one of those things. Unbelievable._

Dorian had absolutely no reason to get so worked up about the Inquisitor. No way, no how. It wasn't like he missed the friendly face that rounded the stairs to say hello to him on his way to the spymaster. He especially didn't miss how the elf would plummet down from the upper floor. Like a lunatic. _Scared the daylights out of me the first couple of time he did that._

“Keep pacing like that and you’ll wear Skyhold through the ground, literally.” 

Dorian turned to see  an abundance of chest hair Varric talking to him. “I’m not pacing, why would I be doing such a thing?” All lies.

“Sparkler, this is the fourth lap, trust me I counted” the dwarf rose an eyebrow. “Things are gonna be fine. The Inquisitor took Solas and Cole with him and they’ll make sure he comes back safe and sound. Blackwall will keep an eye out for him too.”  

He sighed, “I'm not worried about-” the dwarf gave him a _look._ “Okay fine, perhaps I'm _slightly_ concerned, but I suppose you're right.” Dorian was sure Cole would make sure Lavellan was alright. 

“Of course I'm right, it’s why I won our last bet.” 

“Ugh, don't remind me. Nug feet haunt my dreams.” 

“Tell you what, Sparkler. Let’s grab a drink till in man of the hour comes back, my treat.” 

“Free swill? You drive a hard bargain Varric, how could I refuse?” He conceded dramatically. 

“Ha! I'm a businessman, it’s what I do.” He chuckled. 

The two of them descended the stone steps from the main hall and headed to the tavern. Well they would have if the familiar groaning and clanking of the main gate hadn’t alerted them. They stopped at the bottom of the steps and watched at the large gate slowly rose.Dorian swerved and headed down the second flight of stairs towards the main entrance. 

“So much for drinks.” Varric muttered as he followed after Dorian. 

Trotting into Skyhold came the Inquisitor’s party. Lavellan dismounted and handed his reins to a stable hand. He turned to face Dorian, the giant purple bruise covering the right of his face made him cringe. 

Varric let out a whistle, “That’s one hell of a shiner you got there.” 

The elf stared at them, he looked dazed and his eyes slightly glazed over. 

“The lad took quite a hit, gave everyone a fright when he went flying.” Blackwall spoke, coming to stand next the the elf. 

"He went **_flying_**?” Dorian all but shrieked.

“He'll be fine, spick and span in no time,” Blackwall placed a hand on the Inquisitor’s shoulder. “Isn't that right lad? You've been awfully quiet”. Everyones eyes turned to him. 

“Dorian!” Came the sudden exclamation. “You're here. Hello!” The elf looked at Dorian, eyes blown wide and smiling dreamily.

“Solas gave him something to ease the pain on the way back, a bit too strong perhaps.” 

“Too strong is an understatement.” Varric said, looking amused. 

Dorian suddenly found himself with an armful of elf, he rocked back on the heel of his feet at the unexpected force. Skinny arms wrapped around his waist and a face pressed into his chest. He squawked, and embarrassingly loud one at that. 

Varric and Blackwall’s eyebrows shot upwards. Dorian flailed is arms, with a flourish that only he could do, and eventually rested one arm lightly across the smaller man’s shoulders. The other hand gently patted his head and eventually settled there.  

“I missed you.” Came the muffled voice against his chest. Dorian’s gut did that familiar, twisting flutter.He’d hope the other two hadn’t heard what the elf said. But their brows practically slid up and off their faces, so, no hope in that area.

When he replied his mouth felt dry. “W-well of course you did, I'm in such popular demand I should charge by the hour.” 

Lavellan looked up and nodded as if this was sage advice that needed to be taken to heart. 

“Did you like the chair? I wanted to be there when you saw it...” he mumbled, looking shy. 

_This man will be the death of me._ “I did,” he smiled, “it caused quite a commotion. But the simple minded are amused by simple things.” Dorian shot a meaningfullook at Blackwall and Varric. The dwarf just chuckled.

“You better take our poor Lord Inquisitor up to his chambers before he says something that'll shock a visiting Lord. I’m sure Blackwall wouldn't mind joining me in the tavern.”

“Indeed I wouldn’t.A warm mug of ale after a long trip is not something I'd turn down.” Was the Agreement. 

Dorian sighed as the two left him alone with the temporarily dopey Inquisitor in favor of piss poor alcohol. He grasped the slender man’s elbow and gently guided him up the stony steps. The elf spotted scout harding and waved at her. Dorian had to gently steer distracted elf, up the next flight of stairs.

Going through the great hall was awful. People came up the the Lord Inquisitor and rambled endlessly. Talking about their insignificant problems and idle gossip. _Who talks about soup for fifteen minutes?_ Conveniently, the elf was dazed and accommodating, no one was the wiser. Dorian was beginning to see a pattern of being interrupted by the masses and steering the poor man to his room, inch by inch. 

By the time they made it mid-way throughout the staircase up to Lavellan’s chambers, the man seem to decide that he had enough and wanted to sleep. Right on the stairs. Slumping against Dorian’s leather clad arm, head resting on his shoulder. 

“Oh, for the Maker’s sake, it’s just a little further. Then you can sleep on your bed, not here.”

“Nooo....” Came the petulant reply, slinking onto the floor. Dorian let out a frustrated sigh.

“Fine, we'll do this the hard way.” 

The mage hooked an arm under the elf’s knees and secured the other arm around his back for support. He hoisted the smaller man up to his chest, adjusting his weight to make sure everything was stable. A yelp echoed the stairwell. 

“I’m no delicate mage. My beautiful physique isn't just for looks.” He smirked at the man in his arms, feeling a sense of pride at how he gapped at him in surprise. Dorian preened. 

He scaled the rest of the stairs and turned around to use his back to push open the door and kicked it shut, his arms were full after all. The room was nicely furnished. Red and accenting greens decorated the interior. Complemented by the beige Orlesian loveseat and matching bed. Dorian gently placed Lavellan on his bed. 

The Inquisitor spread out on the bed like a starfish and began to doze lightly. 

“Oh no you don’t, sleeping in blood crusted armour. Absolutely atrocious.” Dorian muttered. He started to go through the closet, searching for something suitable and not blood crusted. He saw the beige pyjama-like outfit and made a disgusted noise that would impress Cassandra. _Who told him to wear this beige thing? It puts abominations to shame._ His search led him to a simple tunic and pair of trousers. 

“Up! Sit up and change. Then you can sleep.” 

“Ugh..” the drowsy elf mumbled as a forced himself in an upwards position, swaying as he raised. He tried to undo his rogue armour but only managed to fumble with the claps and fabric. 

“Come over here” the mage said after watching the pitiful attempt in front of him. The elf complied, scooting over to slouch on the edge of the bed. 

Dorian began to remove the vest, then the scarf, he unbuckled the small chest plate and set it aside. His nose scrunched up in disgust as flecks of blood and other gore fell off.  

“Ew.” Lavellan said sleepily, his eyes half closed. 

“Ew indeed, I have no idea how you can walk around covered in this gunk.” 

Soon enough the elf’s upper body was left bare. Dorian grabbed the tunic he found.   
   
“Arms up.” The tunic was slid on. “Pants are next, there’s mud caked on them.”  

“Mmh.” 

“When I left Tevinter, getting the mysterious Herald of Andraste ready for bed is not what i'd imagined doing. Although, if somebody came in here right now, and accused me of stealing your soul I wouldn't be surprised at all.” He spoke aloud, filling the silence of the room. 

He pulled down the filthy pants and replaced them with the cleaner cotton pair. 

“There we go, much better. You can sleep now.” He pulled back the covers and ushered the sleepy man inside, covering him when his face landed on the pillows. He received a muffled thanks.

Dorian looked fondly at the smaller man, his short chestnut red hair splayed against fabric. His chest rose softly as he breathed soft snores. A lovely bronze cheek smooshed into a pillow. 

After a small lapse of silence he gathered the dirty clothes and put them a wicker basket used for filthy garments. A servant can tend to them later.

The cool air registered against the Altus’ skin. _Do I have to do everything myself?_ He grabbed several logs and placed them into the fireplace and conjured flames to life. _Better_.

But what now? Dorian could go back to his nook in the rotunda, or join some of the inner circle in the tavern... Honestly, neither of these things appealed to him. He strolled around the room, pacing the area, trying to decide what he wanted to do. 

What exactly is he doing here? With the Inquisitor, the Inquisition. Without his books to occupy him, Dorian felt feelings of uncertainty flood him. People have made it clear that he wasn't welcome when he first step foot in heaven. He still isn’t. The mage new it would be like this when he left home. _Maybe I shouldn't have left._ He let out a sigh. _But that’s not true._ Aheavier sigh escaped him as he tried to quell rising anxiety. 

_The Inquisitor needed somebody to watch over him._ Yes. That’s a good reason to stay, not that he was looking for one. Or that he held some sort of concern. _Foolish elf, always getting into trouble._

Dorian headed to the bookshelf by the dest, plucked whatever tome touched his fingers. Then plopped himself on the beige couch next to the bed, flipping through the pages. 

                                                                                                           ❀❀❀

Dorian felt disoriented and tired. His head pounded with an ache that only happened when taking a nap. It left the mind discombobulated, trying to grasp at the reigns of reality. The mage tried to open his eyes, finding them heavy, shut them again. He still tried to fight to consciousness, remembering where he was. _Inquisitor’s chambers._ What exactly had he been doing, something happened. _The Inquisitor was hurt, I helped him into bed._

This time he managed to open his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. The room was dark, save for the dim lighting from the fireplace, it was comfortablywarm compared to earlier. He decided to check on the Inquisitor, rolling in place on the couch. Facing the bed, he met with pale blue eyes. They seemed to glow silver when flames flickered, they seem to illuminate silver. 

“Hey.” Came elf’s the sleepy soft voice.

“Hello. You're awake, how are you feeling?” Dorian’s voice was coarse with sleep. He cleared his throat.

“Better, my face is sore.” Purpled flesh still store and tender.

“Ah yes. It was your brilliant idea to punch a hurlock.” Dorian gave the other a look of exasperation. “Honestly, the things you come up with.” 

“It... seemed like a good idea. At the time.” Came the soft murmur.

“Oh? Do tell, I'd love to hear about your brilliance.” His moustache quirked with the corner of his lips in a smirk. 

The elf only huffed out a breath. Snuggling into his feathery pillow and closed his eyes. This gave Dorian a moment to survey the elf before him. Lavellan’s lashes where thick, but not long, they fanned out prettily.  

There was a scar on the side of his head, starting from his forehead, curving down the side of his temple and hooking down his cheek. _How did that happen?_ The tip of his nose was slightly upturned. _Cute_. If Dorian was a trashy dwarven novelist, with a shady editor, he’d say it was button-like. 

Lavellan opened his eyes again, catching the mage staring. He flushed, giving dorian a shy smile. 

“Have you been here the whole time?” The elf asked.

“Well somebody had to make sure you were alright.” 

“You didn't have to.” He said, but he looked oddly pleased. 

“But I did, and look at me now. In the Inquisitor’s bedroom, without being wined and dined. Scandalous.” Dorian said coyly. 

“We can change that.” 

“What?” His throat tightened.

Lavellan shifted out of bed, stretching as he stood up. 

“Dinner, let me make it up to you.” 

“I’m sorry?” Dorian sat up. He was confused. 

“Dinner.” Lavellan said, he pulled his boots one, one leg after the other. “You know, when people eat in the evening.” 

"I know what dinner is.” He said with a slight note of petulance.

“There'll be wine.” Enticed the elf.   
  
“You drive a hard bargain. Who am I to turn away a free meal with wine.” If the man was offering him dinner with wine then who was he to refuse. Especially if he didn't have to sneak bottles past Josephine. The Inquisitor’s face split into a grin. 

They walked side by side to the kitchen, shoulders pressed together as they talked casually. A few people were milling about, but it was peacefully quiet. On the way to the kitchen they made a detour to the wine cellar, Dorian saw the elf pick out a bottle of a fine ghislain white. 

The kitchen was empty when they entered, it was lit with candles and a fire in the hearth. Other then that they had it to themselves. 

“So... What exactly are we going to do?” The mage asked. “I’m might be brilliant, but culinary skills are not in my arsenal.” 

“That’s fine, you can watch.” Lavellan guided the man to sit in a stool at the large preparation table in the centre. He placed the wine bottle on the table surface. 

“And have you do all the work yourself?” 

“Everyone else seems to be okay with me doing all the work.” Teased the elf as he opened the storage to the tableware, retrieving a pair of crisp wine glasses.

“A fair point.”

Dorian watched as the rouge adeptly remove the cork from the wine bottle with a small knife. _When did he get that?_ The Inquisitor poured the wine into the glasses with a practiced ease, Dorian observed. 

“You're quite good at that.” He pointed out.

“Am I?” Dorian received a tight smile for a fraction of a second. Curious, most individuals wouldn't be so tight-lipped about opening wine bottles. Perhaps he shouldn't prod.

“I don't suppose serving wine is something that’s taught by the Dalish.”

“Not particularly.” Came the ambiguous reply. The Tevinter noticed how the elf shifted uncomfortably, before searching for ingredients. 

He watched the smaller man prepare rice in a saucepan, and salmon in another. The elf swiftly diced peppers and onion with skill, pushing them aside for later. 

“Do you like spicy food Dorian?” Lavellan asked over his shoulder. 

“And miss out on the tasteless slop from the south? Absolutely.” To think he'd long for even the simplest of flavours from home. “What exactly are you making?” Dorian continued to watch as the elf took out a frying pan, melting butter with oil, then adding a thick red paste to the mix. 

“Kedgeree. I'm sure you've heard of it.”  

“That’s a Tevinter dish, where exactly did you learn this?” Dark brows rose in surprise.  

“Definitely not with the Dalish.” 

“My, my. So full of hidden talents.”   
  
The Altus sipped at his glass of wine as he watched the elf transfer the rice and salmon into the frying pan. Mixing the two, slowly breaking the salmon into smaller bits. He then added the diced peppers and onions into the mix. 

“Can you get us some bowls?” The elf motioned vaguely, attention on the task at hand. 

“Certainly.” Placing his wine glass down, he did as his worship asked. Standing next to the elf as he cooked allowed Dorian to smell the delicious spices and peppers, making his mouth water. Lavellan held out a hand and the mage placed a bowl in it. 

He scooped the contents into the bowl and put it aside, holding his hand out for the other, repeating the process.

_How domestic_. Dorian thought. It was nice though, to be comfortable with someone. He hasn't felt like this with many individuals. Not since his apprenticeship with Alexius, where Felix and him became friends between late hours of research. 

“Eat up.” Lavellan said once they were seated. Dorian scooped a spoonful into his mouth and groaned. It was yummy. A smile spread on the other mans face, delighted that his cooking was thoroughly enjoyed. 

“Good?” 

Dorian groaned around another spoon full. “You're a food mage, everything is coming together now. I've figured out your dark secret, Lord Inquisitor.” 

The elf laughed gleefully and started on his own portion. Spoons scraped against bowls as they ate and drank in comfortable silence. 

“Thank you, for the enjoyable meal.” Dorian said. 

“Well, I did have delightful company, perhaps that made it more enjoyable.” Dorian met his eyes and saw the soft look in them. _This man is an unbelievable sap._ The elf began to gather dishes, and the dirty pans he used for cooking.  
  
“You're right, I am delightful.” He stood up as well. “Let me assist, it’s the least I can do.”

“Do you even know how to do wash dishes?” A raised brow was directed at Dorian. 

“I'm an excellent study?” 

Lavellan huffed out a laugh. “You can dry.” Pushing a rag into his hands. 

As the elf washed, he passed soaked glassware to the mage, hands brushing against another. Sometimes lingering, others seemed like swift caresses, grazing wet skin against dry. Dorian could feel his heart do that thing in his chest. You know, the awful fluttering thing that happened. His heart squeezed, almost painfully, it was a dizzying experience. But Dorian knows what these unrealistic feelings lead to. A tryst would be nice, if that’s what things between him and the Inquisitor lead to. He could be reading things entirely wrong though. Mistaking the elf’s kindness for a different type of interest entirely. 

“Are you alright?” Calf eyes looked up at him in concern. Dorian realized that he stopped what he was doing in favour of less than desired thoughts. 

“Of course, I was just thinking.” 

Lavellan nodded, accepting Dorian’s answer. They continued with cleaning the dishware. 

“Has your research been going well?” With that inquiry, Dorian went into a spiel about historical context and the cultural appropriation in Brother Genitivi’s writing. Lavellan gave him an attentive smile, nodding along with what he was saying. Asking interested questions during pauses. 

It took a while for Dorian to realize that they've been talking for some time. Rather, he was and the Inquisitor’s attention fixated on him. It took him another moment to realize how close the other man had gotten. The mage could feel the elf’s body radiate heat in such close proximity. 

“You don't have to listen to my tirade.” Dorian said. 

“And let you miss out an opportunity to hear yourself speak? Never.” The elf made to smile but winced. His bruised face ailing him. 

“There you go again, does it ache?” Dorian instinctively cupped his face, drawing mana to his palm. Willing it to cool as ice magic does. 

The smaller man shivered and closed his eyes. But pressed his face into hazel skin, seeking cool relief. In comparison, Dorian’s hand enveloped Lavellan’s cheek entirely. He never realized how small the elf was. 

He glided his thumb over the bruised skin, relishing how it made the other shiver. He liked having this effect on him. Lit candles casted shadows across the Inquisitor’s face. 

Dorian wanted to kiss him, his gut churned with need. He wanted to, so _badly._  
  
He leant forward- 

The wooden door’s rustic hinges screeched open. The Inquisitor’s eyes opened as the two jolted apart. Both startled by the sound of two voices.

“I swear on my chest hair, it’s true.”

“That is absolutely preposterous-” Cassandra scowled, “oh.” The warrior’s scowl changed into surprise. The atmosphere changed into an awkward one at the unexpected encounter. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, trying to gauge the situation before them. Except for Varric. _The smooth fucker._

“Are we interrupting?” Varric asked, with a sly smile on his face. 

“Uh- well.” Stuttered Lavellan. Dorian noted the rosiness in his cheeks. Cassandra must have seen it too because she narrowed her eyes in suspicion, glancing between the two. 

“I could say the same thing.” Dorian quickly intervened. “What a surprise to see the two of you. Together. So late in the evening.” He pointed out, feeling frustrated at the interruption. 

“What _exactly_ are you insinuating, Tevinter?” The female warrior said, eyebrows knotting together as her face flamed in embarrassment.  

Dorian found himself chuckling. _It’s always a delight to goad her._  
  
“Continue laughing and we'll see how long you last.” She scowled at him. 

“Now, now Seeker. Sparkler was just teasing you.” 

“Are you getting something to eat?” Asked Lavellan, not so tactfully changing the subject. “I would have made more if I knew there were more mouths to feed.” 

“Nah, we were just hoping find those frilly little cakes Josephine likes to get.”Said Varric. 

Cassandra sighed, “I have no idea how you talked me into this.” She looked exasperated. “Josephine will have a fit.” 

The Inquisitor laughed good-naturedly at the two of them. “Well, it’s a good thing that we never saw you two, isn't it Dorian?” The elf playfully grasped the crook of the mage’s elbow. “In fact, we were never here.”He tugged Dorian out the door with a parting wave. 

“So eager to leave?” 

“And get in the middle of those two? I’d rather we didn't.” Lavellan replied while, directing the other man through stone corridors. 

“Where exactly are we going?” Asked Dorian.

“I’m walking you to your room.” Was stated, in a matter-of-fact way. 

"Oh? How chivalrous of you.” While his voice didn't reveal his surprise, he definitely felt it. He was a grown man, an escort wasn't needed. 

“You deserve the best.” 

_Oh?_ Here it comes. That _feeling_ that Dorian wished would _just go away. Stop it._

The two reached the wooden door to Dorian’s room. He turned to look at he elf, whose hand slipped from his elbow.

“You flatter me.” 

A look of embarrassment crossed the Inquisitors face. He looked down, avoiding Dorian’s eyes. 

What the elf said was quite, soft, hard to hear. But the mage managed to make it out. “Its hard not to flatter a man like you.” 

He reached for Dorian’s hand, slow enough for him to pull away. But he didn’t. 

Dorian’s heart beat erratically. 

Small and slender, calloused hands cup his. The Altus felt his throat close, making it hard to breath. Confusion and anxiety filled his lungs. _What is happening?_

Lavellan took the time to tenderly stroke his thumb over the back of the taller man's hand. Eyes that shimmered like celestine looked into his as he brought Dorian’s hand to his lips. Pressing delicately against dark skin. 

With a sudden “Good night.” Lavellan was gone, with the swiftness of his rogue dexterity. 

_What? What just happened?_ Dorian’s mind reeled. He stood in the empty corridor.

Eventually, after moments of silent confusion Dorian entered his room. Not bothering to light the hearth, he changed into his sleep-ware and flopped onto his bed. Covers and all. 

He stared at the ceiling in the dark. What did the Inquisitor want from him. He was treated to dinner and wine, in a candle lit room. 

_Maker, I almost kissed him._ He was so close, already cupping the round jaw and cheekbones. How would the fabled Herald of Andraste react? Would he push him away, or press his body into him for more. 

But there was definitely something. He walked him to his room and kissed his hand, for maker’s sake. It can’t be a Dalish thing…can it? 

The mage could imagine pressing his hands into coppery thighs. Thinking of how he could press the pads of his hands into flesh and watch it give under his fingers. 

Dorian let out a groan as his body involuntarily shuddered at these thoughts. The soft jolt of pleasure stirring at his groin. Closing his eyes he trailed one hand up his stomach. Pushing his cotton shirt up and feeling his warm skin. Touching the sparse hairs that gradually became coarse as he moved his hand downwards. 

Using his nails, he dragged them through the thick thatch of hair to the base of his cock. Which was decidedly interested, but not hard. Not yet. 

Dorian felt like a celibate chantry sister, fondling himself for the first time. It’s been ages since he's participated in any decadent pleasures of the flesh. If the Inquisitor pushed him into his room with the intentions of bedding him he would follow, enthusiastically. 

Grasping the base of his cock, he tried to stroke himself, the waist of his pants too tight for such a movement. He used his hand to jerkily undo the drawstrings. Almost frantic in its frustration. And yanked the fabric around his hips down enough do pull his shaft out.

He let out more groans as he pushed and pulled his his hips into his hand. His member firm and hot, gliding against fingers. 

The Inquisitor was a fantasy though. Dorian was smart enough to know that the bed partners he's had in his life wouldn't treat him so kindly. Not out of the goodness of their hearts. Perhaps they'll shower him with flattery, but only for a quick lay. 

Lavellan was a better man than that, wouldn't shove him into dark corners. 

Pre-cum dribble messily down his prick, drooling over and in-between his jerking fingers. His thighs trembled shakily in gratification. He could imagine it, the touch of dexterous hands.

He would touch him gently, soft caresses and tender strokes. There wouldn't be rough hands gripping his hips, using him till he was bruised.

Dorian’s breathing was harsh as he panted. Breaths loud in his room while he jerked himself in a frenzy. 

Startled, he cried out as his back arched off his bed. His whole body quivered as the thrill of his orgasm came. Eventually the high of his orgasm wore off. He found himself sweaty, and soiled in his own seed. He stripped his shirt off and used it to wipe his hand. Then semen from his stomach and cock before tossing it to the floor.  
  
When he slipped under the covers and drifted to sleep one thing came to his mind.  
  
He was utterly  _fucked._

   ❀❀❀ _  
_


End file.
